Of Blood and Jade
by Slow to Dream
Summary: "What do you know of fear, panda?" her beautiful stark-blue eyes pierced through the night, "Fear is for the flickering shadows that move at night, the blade that gleams in the dark. Fear is falling asleep knowing you can die in the darkness, alone. " She turned away solemnly. "In this Game of Blood and Poisoned Blades, everyone loses." TigressxPo.


**Title: **Of Blood and Jade

**Author: **Slow to Dream

**Fandom: **Kung Fu Panda (1 & 2)

**Rating: **T for violence, swearing, dark themes, mild sexual reference.

**Pairings: **Mainly TiPo.

**Disclaimer: **I DO NOT own the cinematic film/animation Kung Fu Panda (1 & 2), nor do I own the ORIGINAL characters of the film and my readers. I DO NOT own any pop-culture, media, music, entertainment or video games I have alluded to. This Fanfiction is by no means historically accurate.

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**A/N: **I have changed some vital parts of many OCs. Don't be mad please. I'd like to think I have made huge changes to this Fanfiction. Please review with constructive criticism.

another thing: _italics_ – _dreams, thoughts,_ _memories, flashbacks, song lyrics, emphasis, special sayings in special moments._

**bold** – **titles, markings, POV listings, emphasis**

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**Chapter 1**

**A Beginning To Things**

**_"Winter Is Coming."_ - George R.R. Martin**

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Sooooo. Yeah. My re-write of the re-write for the original(now deleted) Fanfiction: Heroes of China. I hope you guys enjoy it. This is the first part of the prologue. Heavily inspired by TV series and novel series _Game of Thrones_ by _George R.R. Martin_ and **Fanfiction** writer **Delgodess**.

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**Po Ping**

"_Kill them! Kill them all!" _

_Fire danced hot everywhere, the thick scent of blood suffocating the air like a venomous smog. Tears mercilessly blurring his sight, Po continued to wail and whine for his mother as the other pandas before him were struck down by Shen's wolves. Screams of pain and fear rose in the air as howls of excitement rang out into the night, creating a ghastly nightmare of a choir. _

_Po blinked, and suddenly he was being carried away in his mother's arms. He could feel the thundering heartbeat pounding in her chest, and smell the scent of fear and sweat clinging to his mother's fur. Drops of his mother's tears fell unto his face, mixing with his own. The howling and snarling of wolves snapped at their heels as fire continued to devour the forest behind them in a sea of flames. His mother's harsh breathing resonated with a death wish and a final moment as she slipped behind a slope to hide Po from Lord Shen's men. _

_His mother's face seemed to glow, as the tears in her eyes shone bright within. Her sad smile, the way she held his face. A final kiss against the crown of his head, and three final words._

"_I love you." _

_As his mother ran back up into the slope into the snow, Po caught glimpses of torches and snow-white feathers until a wave of fire devoured his vision. The heat was unbearable, it almost seemed to swallow him alive, ripping a scream from his throat. The flames almost roared into his ears, drowning all other sounds until the only thing he could hear was the deafening embers. _

Po's eyes shot open in the recluse of the dark, sweat damp in his fur and chest heaving in an uneven melody. Sitting up in his tent, he slowly panned his vision across his surrounding, finding strange comfort in the biting chill of the wind and sweet kiss of the darkness.

"Another dream…?" Po sighed to himself as he escaped his tent to take a breath of fresh air.

The woods were ominous that night, the wind whispering into Po's ears and trees creaking and groaning in the darkness. For a fleeting moment, Po felt as if he was a cub again, afraid of the creeping dark. Shaking his head furiously, Po slapped himself in the face.

_Get a grip of yourself_, Po chastised himself, _It was only a dream. _

Stepping out further into the dark, he traced his footsteps till he sat at the edge of a pool of sweet, crisp water. Po dipped his hands into the chilled pond and held water into his cupped hands. Washing his face and neck, Po made sure that the water running down his fur never reached back into the pond. After all, he didn't want the others to drink his own sweat.

_Shifu would kill me if that happened, _Po chuckled in the solitary night.

Looking into the stars, Po grinned to himself before he flopped on his back. He was wrong all along; the darkness hadn't left him in solitude—the stars were keeping him company. They were all so beautiful, Po noted, sparkling like shining jewels in the sun. Some were aligned to form shapes Po could distinctly pick out from his lessons and memories.

"There's the Jiao, the Kang, the Di…" Po thought out loud, holding a finger up in the sky, running his finger along the shapes of the constellations in the sky.

"Don't forget the Xin, the Heart."

Po must have nearly jumped ten feet in the air, yelping loudly in the process. Turning around hastily, Po spotted two beautiful crimson eyes in the darkness watching him with amusement. Adjusting his eyes to the dark, Po realized it was Tigress. The feline was standing behind him, weight shifted onto one hip with her arms crossed.

"Oh, uh—hey Tigress! I was just, uh, just looking at some uh…why—why're you up?" Po fumbled with his words, inwardly slapping himself in the face.

The amusement written on her face only amplified at Po's fluster. Walking silently up to Po, she sat down at the foot of the pond, crossing her legs and bringing her arms out to rest on her knees; palms up with the tips of her index fingers and thumbs touching. Po immediately recognized it as the Lotus position for meditation—not one of his scarce strengths.

Tigress lazily opened an eye. "I wish to meditate when the others are asleep and the Earth is loudest." Tigress coolly continued, "But seeing as how you're awake, I'll make do."

Plopping down beside her, Po looked into the water, the moonlight dancing upon the surface of the pool. And suddenly the creaking and moaning of trees no longer brought fear to Po, and instead, brought him a surreal peace.

Po spoke after a long pause. "Tigress, what'd you mean about the Earth being the loudest?"

"Exactly what I meant, Po." Tigress sighed and opened an eye yet again. "Listen closely, stay silent, and you'll hear what I'm speaking of."

"Oh, alright. Meditation mode." Po closed his eyes and concentrated earnestly, eager to hear what Tigress had spoken of.

After a pregnant pause, all Po heard was the wind and a few branches swaying in the gust. "Tigress, I don't hear anything." Po whispered, looking back at the feline.

Tigress opened both her eyes this time, turned her head fully to meet his gaze. "I know this sounds strange, Po, but…use your heart as well as your ears. Try again, but this time I will assist you."

Po slammed his eyes shut and attempted vainly to flex his ears, if that was even possible.

"Can you feel the wind on your fur, Po? How it sings when it sweeps through the branches of trees, giving them a voice?" Her voice was soft as it floated into the gentle breeze. "The grass sways as the breeze dances with the flowers and plants. The scent of forest and water can ensnare you into a different world: if you just let it."

It was beautiful, the way the Earth was creating its own music in the dead of night. After a steady moment of listening, Po slowly opened his eyes to look into Tigress'. "Wow, Tigress…that was deep."

Tigress looked away, a blush just barely visible from the darkness. "If you would but only listen, the Earth would be willing to sing to you. A lesson Master Oogway had taught me when I was only a cub."

"Wow…Oogway, huh? I thought it had something to do with him…sounds like it was something he would preach."

"He was the wisest and kindest of us all." Although it had been some time after his passing, Po could visibly read the pain in her eyes. She looked away for a fleeting moment to compose herself. "So, why are you up so late, Dragon Warrior? Surely, there is no mast for you to spar with here?"

Po chuckled at the memory. "No, no mast here. I was up because…dreams."

Her Lotus Position remained to be unbroken. "Some say dreams are a sign of guidance or a vision of what is to come."

"Well in that case," Po nervously chuckled, "Let's hope that isn't true."

Tigress' meditation came to a screeching halt. Turning fully to face Po, concern coloring her crimson eyes. Po noted they shone like the sun.

"Nightmares, Po?" her voice was so sweet and soft, bewitching Po.

He knew then and there that lying was going to be impossible. "I…memories of Shen and my village…"

Tigress sighed and grabbed Po's paw, gently placing her other on top of his. "Po, I told you that the Hardcore understand. So I'm going to reiterate with this: I'm here for you."

Her eyes shone in the moonlight like an undying ember. The warmth radiating from her palms warmed his, and the comforting heat soon spread throughout his body. Po sighed; he was so foolish for thinking he was alone.

Po thanked Tigress with one of his trademark goofy smiles. "Thanks, Tigress."

Her smile only amplified the warmth in his fur. "You don't have to thank a friend."

They sat together, underneath the moon and stars, feet dipping into the cool, calm waters. Po couldn't have asked for a better friend to sit with tonight.

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**Hei'an Lee**

"_Never forget, my little flower," her father said, "Never forget who or what you are. Surely, the world would not, so how can you?"_

_He would gather the small trembling ball of fur in his arms, comforting the sobbing girl. Nothing can be done about why Hei'an was weeping in her father's arms. There was nothing he could do for his own daughter being hurt by her own family._

_She could hear the whispers through the walls, see the blunt hate through the eyes of her stepmother and stepsiblings. She's a bastard child(1), they would cry, not even of our lands. Her name was proof enough that she was a bad omen: Hei'an, meaning darkness in the western country of China. _

"_Why do they hate me so much?" Hei'an would sob softly, "Why does mother hate me?" _

"_Oh child," her father would sigh, "It is because you are different; you are not of whole Korean descent, nor are you a normal child." _

_She knew he purposefully left out that she was not her stepmother's daughter._

_He would lovingly run his fingers along her head, feeling her melanistic(2) fur. The pure black fur felt like the finest silks of Korea, he noted with quiet pride. Although Hei'an was indeed a snow leopard of the Goguryeo, her fur would never be the sleek gray and sliver that their kind had known to be; her fur would forever be a pitch black. _

"_Is it because my fur isn't like theirs?' Hei'an looked up to her father, tears staining the fur on her cheeks, "Is it because Mother was Chinese?" _

_Her father looked deep into her eyes. He always looked her straight into her eyes, as if he was searching for something…or someone. _

"_Little flower, use their insults and hate as your strength." her father held her tightly, whispering his wisdom into her velvet ears as he held her, "Then it can never hurt you. Hold it like a banner, a proud flag, and it can never be used against you. You may not be your stepmother's daughter, but you are still the daughter of Lord Hwan and the young lord of the Lee Clan in the kingdom of Goguryeo." _

_He tipped her chin up with a lone finger, his kind eyes twinkling in the starlight of midnight. "You are still my daughter, Hei'an."_

_Hei'an relaxed into her father's arms, letting loose a small smile. She snuggled into her father's robes, taking in the scent of cinnamon and the ginseng of his tea. _

_She spoke through her father's clothes. "Tell me about Mother again." Hei'an looked up into her father with shining eyes, excited of the prospect of a good story. _

_Lord Hwan sighed in defeat, smiling ever-so-slightly at how excited his daughter was. His first wife was a distant star in his memories, a shining monument that was distant yet unavoidable. He recalled his memories in a sad happiness. _

"_Have I told you the time when your mother and I…"_

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**Mehtap**

The soft glow of moonlight splashed Mehtap's face in a gentle light. The wolf had been resting there in a massive field of grass as she peered into the night sky in pensive thought. The night breeze nipped at her ears and flirted with her fur, leaving the flowers and grass around her swaying to the music of the wind. The soft scent of the sweet, dew-coated grass and delicate aromas of the flowers teased her nose. The peace and quiet made her thoughts loud tonight.

"**Mehtap, take Yeşim and leave! Now!"**

Searching the constellations, Mehtap had found some small comforts in the beauty of the night before a soft gasp had interrupted her thoughts. It was almost inaudible, yet it had blasted volumes into her ears. The guttural noise was short and distant, yet it had reached a level of emotion Mehtap had never felt before. Rising to her feet, Mehtap had slowly made her way across the gentle field of cool grass to meet a mass of scattered bodies. They lay like dead canvases, the sanguine of red coated against them, assembling deadly art.

"**Mother, Father! Please don't do this! Please!**

Approaching the heaving body of a survivor, Mehtap noticed he what he was gasping for was not life or air. The man silently pled for finality, a means to an end. His guttural wheezes were a prayer, the look upon his eyes a plea. Though the assassins had come for her, Mehtap paid no mind to the dying assassin's allegiance.

Dropping to a knee and taking his paw in her's, she looked directly into his eyes. "I'm sorry I had not spared you a quick death. Forgive me."

As she let go of her attempted murder's paw, she stood to leave. A desperate, bloody paw shot out to grasp her leg with unnatural strength.

He gurgled an unintelligent response, tinted with a sense of desperation and pleading. "Hurts…it hurts…" he sloshed as blood foamed in his maw, "Mother…Father…"

"**Since Mother and Father are…gone, we have to stick together—right Mehtap?"**

The assassin looked down upon his chest, the assassin lay there weeping. Mehtap had guessed the sight was just too much for the assassin. He was barely a man, just a boy coming of age. Was this the men _they_ had sent after her now? Young men who had no desire to fight, still homesick and confused of war?

Mehtap slammed her eyes shut, kneeling down and softly clasping her paw over the assassin's eyes. He sighed as Mehtap had drawn a dagger and quickly slit his throat.

"**You said we'd stick together! You lied! Mehtap, please don't leave me here, please! Mehtap! MEHTAP!**

"Huzur içinde yatsın(3)" She held down the convulsing body, feeling frail and sick.

The white wolf raised and began to walk back into the distance yet again. As she lay down in her previous spot, Mehtap found it wasn't the same. The beautiful moonlight that she had basked in was no longer present; dark clouds masked the moon's beauty from the sky. The grass and flowers no longer danced with the midnight breeze, frozen in terror of her wake. The wind had sent accusing whispers into her ear and the cold night froze her to her very core.

Mehtap was so tired, so exhausted of all this. Was this her punishment, the consequence of her past life? As she pondered of her everlasting punishment, she sensed the presence of a dark figure behind her. It remained silent, maintaining a peaceful and unthreatening distance behind her.

"Has the Brotherhood lost so many numbers that they send boys after me?" she couldn't keep the faint ring of anger out of her voice.

The figure refused to shift. "The Brotherhood is strong. The Game of Blood and Poisoned Blades—"

"In the Game of Blood and Poisoned Blades, _everyone_ loses." Mehtap snapped, "How long have you been in war with the Nuòfū clan?"

"It is true," the figure turned away from her, "And that is why I have left the Brotherhood."

Mehtap sat up and gazed at the stranger's back. "You don't leave the Brotherhood. No one leaves the Brotherhood."

"And yet here you are."

As the figure began to walk away, Mehtap stood in haste to stop him. "Who are you, really?" suspicion and disbelief clouded her voice.

"I believe you and I will meet again soon enough."

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**Khan**

The Khan sat back into his chair slowly, easing his tired, old bones. His fur was no longer the brilliant gray streaked with blood his enemies had come to know. It was a dull slate, white fur peppered along his body. His dark robes barely protected his ancient skin against the blast of cold from the frozen tundra. His body ached from the cold and the harsh winds ripping into his clothes. The hearth by his side brought little comfort.

"Khan, it is I." a voice muffled by howling winds eked through the massive tent entrance flap.

"Come in."

"I have come with the reports you have requested, Great Khan." the wolf bowed low, waiting for permission to rise.

"Rise. What news comes today?"

"Provisions are falling, and our troops have multiplied from the recent assimilations of the Howling Moon tribe and Snow Fang tribe. The Horde needs more supplies to last."

The Khan looked away, deep in troubled thought.

"Great Khan, if we begin the invasion now, we can take the rations and supplies we need from major cities of the Gentiles(4) along our borders. We cannot survive another winter if our supplies are this low."

The Khan took a moment to gather his thoughts. The Land of the Gentiles beneath their country was a warmer, softer place. It would be a welcome land from the harsh winds and bitter cold in these hard lands of Mongolia. And if his troops were in China, he could find _her_…

"Let the voice of the Khan roar into the Heaven's." the Khan's small paws tightened into fists, a familiar battle-lust fogging his eyes, "Let the troops and men hear me today. Send a message to this Gentile Emperor of theirs."

The wolf bowed low, bringing out ink and a brush. The Khan stepped off of his throne, the wolf at his back, out of his grand tent and into his camps. The sight that met him was one enough to inspire fear in the hearts of the bravest men. The entire Mongol Horde, in armor and all, fully garrisoned outside his tent to hear his words. The old Corsac Fox stepped forward, and looked on his army with a semblance of pride.

It was when he was a young man he had used nothing but a small tribe of Corsac Foxes to untie the entirety of the frozen tundra that was Mongolia. Those Southern Gentiles will fall beneath the foot of his men, no matter the difference in numbers. And he _would_ find her, even if it meant his death.

"We will descend upon them like a furious blizzard storm, run through them like the cunning wind that howls at night, and march until the setting sun is crushed beneath our feet."

It was deathly quiet, the only noise the howling of the icy winds.

"And as they tremble in the night, shaking as they hear our thundering footsteps, they will know…"

His eyes hardened, voice creeping above a whisper—as cold as the dark night.

"Winter is coming. (5)"

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**A/N**: And please, tell me in a review what you would like to see; more maturity, more humor, more love, more plot, more anything! People, I'm writing this for YOU. You have a huge say in how the story goes.

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1. Bastard Child – A child who's born from a mother and father who weren't married, cheating on their spouses together, etc.

2. Melanistic – When an animal's skin or appendages is heavy on the pigment melanin—causing dark fur or skin.

3. Huzur içinde yatsın – "Rest In Peace" in Turkish.

4. Gentiles – Referring to a nation or people that are "Not-Jew", but in my fanficiton, it means "Not-Mongolian".

5. Winter is coming. – The House Stark's saying in George R.R. Martin's novel series and TV series Game of Thrones. Yes, I borrowed it. Do I regret it? Not a chance.


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